Obligations
by Brownie94
Summary: Michael Donovan, 14, knows his father, Lincoln Burrows, who btw doesnt know he exists, is innocent. Not wanting an innocent man to die and knowing he has an obligation to help him, lies to his mom and plots with his best friend, Bry, to free his father.
1. Michael Donovan

Disclaimer: I don't own Michael Scofield, Wentworth Miller, Dominic Purcell, or Prison Break, which is probably a good thing cuz I'd end up ruining it. For this I borrowed a lot of lines from the pilot.

**Warning: **Michael is Lincoln's son, and he is fourteen years old, it might be a bit farfetched.

I had this cool idea when I was daydreaming, well I thought it was cool anyway.

**Obligations**

Chapter 1: Michael Donovan

"_You can conquer almost any fear if you will only make up your mind to do so. For remember, fear doesn't exist anywhere except in the mind." Dale Carnagie_

Michael Donovan, fourteen years of age, couldn't believe he was about to do this. Man, his mom would kill him if she ever found out, as it was she thought he was at Tennis Camp. You see, Michael Donovan was about to get himself thrown into a Level One security prison, Fox River State Penitentiary, but he had a good, well, okay, reason.

Michael's father, Lincoln Burrows, who by the way didn't know he existed and his mom had told him about when he was ten, was on death row for killing the vice president's brother, Terrence Steadman. The case had been in court for two years now and they had decided on the death sentence a month ago and it was to take place two months from now.

Now Michael was a smart kid, after all, he'd graduated high school at eight and then college at twelve, he worked as a structural engineer for a very respected company, David's Design Firm, and he had followed the case, noting several inconsistencies such as the one's in the video that he'd quickly looked at while his mom had been in the room (she didn't want Lincoln to find out about him so he'd had to wait outside and amuse himself), like Steadman eye being high, as if he is purposefully looking at the camera, another being that after parking the car, Steadman just stays there, as if he was waiting for someone, and many others.

He'd planned a lot for this day, using a lot of his contacts (hey, being a genius pays off) to make a fake identity, which was backed up by records and people, then he'd had someone fashion him a synthetic mask, telling them to age his features. Last but not least he'd gotten the blueprints of the prison tattooed on his upper body (yep, he was so dead). So, Michael _Scofield _was officially eighteen years old, just old enough to get thrown into prison.

Taking a deep breath and calming his nerves, he reminded himself that this was the perfect day to do this. His mom and Sebastian (he was a really nice guy, he didn't mind that his fiancé came with a kid, and he loved Michael) were out of town, they had gone to Vegas for three days, so they couldn't come to the courthouse and somehow recognize him.

Gathering his courage, Michael Scofield opened the door to the bank and walked up to the counter, ignoring the multiple enraged shouts of, "Hey, you can't cut," which soon died out, when he pulled out a gun (it was loaded with blanks), and fired three shots into the air. He then pointed the gun at the clerk, "The vault. Open it."

The scared clerk, who is kneeling behind the counter, stammers out, "We can't. The branch manager's not here."

Looking around and still pointing the gun at the clerk, Michael asks, "Where is he?"

"Its lunchtime, he's at White Castle."

Surprised, Michael repeated, "_White Castle?"_

Looking at him like he's weird, she explains,"It's a fast food restaurant that serves those little square burgers."

Insulted, barely managing to keep the whine out of his voice, Michael said, "I _know_ what it is!" He then fires two more rounds into the air, "I'm _not_ playing games."

"Why don't I just give you the money in the register?" This came from another clerk, who was apparently even more scared than the first clerk. However before Michael can reply, he hears the familiar (from movies) wail of police sirens, then dropping the guns, he raises his hands up in the air. He then closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, then opening then again, now slightly smiling, he turns around.

**********************************************************************

Michael had been slightly scared that the fake identity wouldn't take in court, but he was extremely relieved when no one said anything about its validity. He was pulled out of his musings by his lawyer, the one the state had appointed to him, who was telling him to '**pay attention, this is important**'.

He hears the judge say, "Rarely in the case of armed robbery do we hear a plea of no contest. Are you sure about this, Mr. Scofield?"

Sitting in his chair, Michael replied, "I'm sure your honor."

His lawyer, who looked a lot like his mother with, said, "Your Honor, we'd like to recess if we could, my client's a bit confused at the moment."

Before the judge could say something, Michael said, "I'm not, your Honor," causing his lawyer to look at him like he was crazy and say, "He is, your Honor." They were both now looking at each other.

Then the judge said, "Perhaps you should heed your representation's advice; take some time to consider your response."

Why was she taking pity on him because he was young, judges were only supposed to look at the facts, "I've already done that, your Honor." Michael looks at his lawyer, who looks confused, then looks back at the judge when she starts talking.

"I'll retire to my chambers to determine sentencing. Court's recessed until one thirty." Then people start to leave and Michael is cuffed and escorted out of the room.

His lawyer follows them all the way to the holding cell, Michael can't help, but think '**Golly Gee, woman, give it up!**'

"Do you have any idea what you've done," man, she's already starting to lecture him, sounding more and more like his mom by the second, "You just put the book in the woman's hand and she'd going to lob it at you like a grenade. Justice and punishment are the same thing to her."

"I know," said Michael, he was thankful to her, she was trying to help him and he would've truly appreciated that if he wasn't trying to land in jail.

"Why won't you let me help you?" she implored, "You're just a kid."

"You've been really good to me, you have, but you've gotta let me deal with this _my way_."

That was when Bry, his best friend, who was eighteen years old, entered, "Can you leave us alone?" His lawyer just shook her head and left, maybe she'd finally given up.

Grabbing the bars and shaking his head, Bry said, "I can't believe you're doing this. This is without a doubt the dumbest, craziest thing you've ever done. And that's in a long storied career of dumb and crazy. And 'sides your mom's gonna kill us anyway, actually scratch that. Your mom's gonna torture us probably by telling by mom, who's gonna make us help _pick_ her outfits for her show, then we've passed out from the pain of it, you're mom's gonna wake us up and kill us in the worst way possible…"

Michael interrupted him before he could get even more wound up, "No way, dude! Our mom's aren't even gonna find out, the plan's foolproof. As far as they know, we're at Tennis Camp and we've got the calls all figured out. Either of our mom's calls, Rudy transfers it to your phone, if it's your mom you just answer and if it's mine, you connect the phone to the laptop and just type in what you say in the software I bought, so it comes out like my voice.

Bry then asked, "What about when your face is all over the news, what then? And I still don't get why you're doing this and don't say that you owe him this much. Mike, you don't owe the idiot anything! He hasn't done anything for you, for fucks sake, Mike, he doesn't even know you exist!"

"If that happens my mom will probably call and you can just type a message convincing her that I'm at tennis camp. And I do owe him this Bry, I owe the dude because he's halfway responsible for my life and I have to repay that debt. Now _quit_ _freaking out_!" Their conversation was interrupted by the Bailiff, who'd come to take Michael back to the court, "Hey, I gotta go. Bry, don't worry, it's gonna be _okay."_

_**********************************************************************_

Michael was _so _bored, these things freakin took forever.

The judge said, "Given your lack of prior criminal record I am inclined towards probation. However the fact that you discharged a deadly weapon during the commission of the crime suggests malice to me, for that reason I find it incumbent that you see the inside of a prison Mr. Scofield. It says here that you've requested to be incarcerated somewhere near your home here in Chicago. I'm willing to honor that. The closest level one facility..."

Here she was interrupted by his lawyer, whose name he'd just found out was Niki Larter, who protested, "Level one! That's maximum security, your Honor.

The Judge, who now looked mad, said, "I would ask counsel to refrain from interrupting me," then paused and looking at Michael, continued, "As I was saying, the closest level one facility would be Fox River State Penitentiary. As for the term of your sentence, I'm setting it at five years; you'll be eligible for parole in half that time. Sentence to be carried out immediately.

She then sounded the gavel and Michael ignored the sudden butterflies in his stomach, as the bailiff came to get him. As the van headed towards the penitentiary, Michael thought, '**Phase one of his plan: get sent to Fox River, accomplished**' and then when the van pulled into Fox River, Michael decided it was time to put Phase two: get Lincoln Burrows out of Fox River, into action.

…TBC…

(If you want me to)

So whaddya think? Good, iffy, bad, better, could be better? Should I continue? Reviews and Constructive Criticism are always appreciated.

*wishes really, _really _hard*hope you enjoyed it, yours truly, Brownie.


	2. Welcome to Fox River

Disclaimer: I don't own Michael Scofield, Wentworth Miller, Dominic Purcell, or Prison Break, which is probably a good thing cuz I'd end up ruining it. For this I borrowed a lot of lines from the pilot.

**Warning: **Michael is Lincoln's son, and he is fourteen years old, it might be a bit farfetched.

I had this cool idea when I was daydreaming, well I thought it was cool anyway.

**Obligations**

Chapter 2: Welcome to Fox River

"_Don't find fault, find a remedy." Henry Ford_

Michael tried to calm his nerves as he waited to be processed, reminding himself that he couldn't chicken out now, he was already in and he could do this, totally. He was pulled out of his thoughts by a prison cop, whatever they were called, hoping to speed up the line said, "Okay people, step inside the door. Keep the line moving. Let's go. We ain't got all day to get this done," Michael was getting more nervous as he moved up the line, "Keep it moving. Move it."

It was Michael's turn and he was faced with a man with a wearing a black uniform and an evil smirk on his face, "Name and back number?"

As calmly as he could and hiding how afraid he truly was, Michael replied, "Scofield, Michael. 94941."

The man, Bellick, Michael learned from his nametag, wrote something down on the clipboard and then said, "You a religious man, Scofield?"

Shrugging, still calm and cool, Michael replied, "Never really thought about it."

"Good," said Bellick gruffly, "because the Ten Commandments don't mean a box of piss in here. We got two commandments and two only. The first commandment is you've got nothing coming."

"What's the second commandment?" asked Michael, curious.

"See commandment number one," replied Bellick, still with that angry look on his face, Michael wants to ask if he's afraid his face will get stuck that way, but thinks better of it.

Instead he smirks and looking away, says, "Gotcha."

Getting even angrier, like he's been insulted, Bellick asks, "You talking out the side of your neck?"

Confused as hell, Michael says, "Come again?"

Now madder than ever before, Bellick simplifies his question, "I said, are you being a smartass?"

With no emotion whatsoever and as seriously as he can, Michael replies, "Just trying to fly low, avoid the radar, boss. Do my time and get out." Internally Michael was thinking, '**Crap, He hates me, I just got here and I already have an enemy.**'

Menacingly, Bellick says, "There isn't any flying under my radar."

Smart-aleckly, thinking, '**What the heck, he already hates me,**' Michael replied, "Good to know."

**************************************************************

Michael was looking out of his cell, his cellmate, Mexican guy, who looked to be in his mid-twenties, was lying on his bunk, the top one, and flipping through a magazine. Michael notices as prisoners trade stuff and then when a guard walks by, a black prisoner in the cell across from him calls out, "Hey, can a brother get some air conditioning up in her?"

Then, noticing Michael looking at him, glares and yells, "Yo, Fish, what you lookin' at? You're kinda pretty to be up in here."

Michael didn't let it show, but he was terrified, he had no idea how to deal with this. So closing his eyes, he pictured his mom, the always gave him strength. Then blowing out a breath, he opened his eyes and sees a bunch of inmates walking in from outside. Then his cellmate finally decided to speak up, "I suggest you take a seat, Fish," he was still flipping through his magazine, "Ain't nothing to do up in here, but serve time and nobody gonna serve it for you."

Michael's eyes widened as a big commotion took place outside and he sees a prisoner on the ground with his knife sticking out from his back, the man is whimpering in pain with no one rising to help him. Seeing that, Michael couldn't help, but think, '**God, what had he gotten himself into.**' Then his _extremely helpful_ cellmate decides to comment, "Welcome to Prisoneyland, Fish." Sighing, Michael dropped into his bunk, pulling his knees up to his chest and prayed to God that he'd make it out of here alive and with his father without getting caught. Man, what he wouldn't give to just see his mom or Sebastian right now. Michael went to sleep in that position, dreaming of his mom and sort-of-dad and the feelings of safety that just the thought of them generated within him.

**************************************************************  
Veronica and Sebastian were driving home, "How do you think Michael's doing?" asked Vee.

"Honey, he's at camp, I'm pretty sure, he's having the time of his life," replied Sebastian, he'd met Michael four years ago, when he was ten, five months after he'd started dating Veronica, when she'd finally felt she could trust him with the most important person in her life, and he'd fallen irrevocably in love. He loved Michael like he was his own son and he knew that regardless of whether or not his and Vee's relationship lasted, Michael would be his son.

"Maybe I should call to check up on him," said Vee, she was his mother and she had a feeling that, wherever he was and whatever he was doing, her son was upset.

Chuckling, Sebastian put his right arm around her, still driving with his left hand, and said, "Vee, he's at camp, I'm pretty sure the last thing he wants is to talk with his mother and step-father-to-be," effectively soothing her fears.

Smiling, Veronica said, "You're probably right," pushing away her feelings that something was wrong with her son.

"Probably?" said Sebastian, "I'm _always _right, you should know that by now."

"Yeah," said Veronica sarcastically, "You're always right."

**************************************************************

Michael and his cellmate, whose name he'd learned was Sucre and who'd apparently designated himself as Michael's guide, walked out to the prison's recreation area. Michael takes in his surroundings, from the people, who are separated by race, to the sign on the fence, which reads 'Sit down when shots are fired.' Not for the first time, Michael got the feeling that he was in over his head.

He was pulled out of his thoughts by Sucre talking, explaining how the prison worked, gesturing to the areas as he explained, "Berendo's got the hoops. Artenio's got the bleachers. Woods got the weight pile and the CEO's got the rest. I'm telling you, the guards are the dirtiest gang in this whole place. The only thing separating us from them is the badge."

Michael could honestly say that he didn't understand half of that, but he got the gist that certain places were off limits and who they "belonged" to. Noticing someone, who was part of his plan (although he didn't know it yet), Michael asked, "Who's the pet lover?" the man in question was petting a cat.

"He'll deny it, but he's D.B. Cooper, parachuted out of a plane thirty years ago with one and a half million in cash," answered Sucre.

Pretending that he didn't know everything about this man and was just a regular eighteen year old inmate, Michael said, "Doesn't look like the type."

"Who does?" said Sucre, before someone else caught his attention, "Hey, what up, Wholesale? You okay?"

Okay, prison was officially the weirdest place in the world. Seriously, what kind of names were _Wholesale_ and_ Fish_.

Michael decided that he really needed to quit getting lost in his thoughts when he was once again pulled out of them by _Wholesale_ , "Call me greater later," then pausing and looking at Michael, he asks, "What you doin' with this fish, man?"

Sucre replied, "He's my new cellie," then turning to Michael, he says, "Wholesale's got a wired out of compensary. Anything you want, he can get it for you." He was boasting by the end.

Wholesale comments, "You keep handing out my jacket, I'm gonna bust your grape."

Acting all macho, Sucre replied, "Man, you couldn't bust a grape or nothing with a pair of cleats."

Michael tuned them out and walked away, as they started messing around. He walks to a sewer located between two fire hydrants and a spray of steam, dropping his magazine on purpose and bending down, as if to pick it up, but sliding it between two of the slats instead, making it drop into the dirty water,

Getting up and brushing the dirt off of his pants, Michael walked back over to them and said, "I'm looking for someone. Lincoln Burrows?"

"Linc the Sink?" asked Wholesale.

Half-smiling, Michael asked, "Is that what they're calling him now?"

"Yeah, isn't he as in he'll come at you with everything, but the kitchen sink, Snowflake." And with that Wholesale left, leaving Sucre and Michael alone near the fence.

Holding onto the fence and leaning forward, something catching his eye, Michael asked, "Where can I find him?"

Sucre, mirroring his actions, asked, "Man killed the Vice President's brother. In a month he's getting the chair, which means no one up this river is more dangerous than him 'cause he's got nothing to lose now. What are they going to do? Kill him twice?"

Michael, now crouching down and looking more closely at his father, inquired, "Is there a way I can get to him?"

Sucre making an odd sound, making him sound like he was choking, said, "The only time these boys get out is for chapel and P.I.

Getting up and brushing the dirt off his pants, Michael, calm as ever, asked, "P.I.? What's that?"

"Prison Industry," Sucre answers, "The guys that get along get to work. Painting, scrapping, making mattresses, you name it. I wouldn't get excited though if I were you, Fish. You ain't sniffing none of P.I."

Raising his eyebrow, Michael questioned, "Why's that?"

"'Cause John Abruzzi runs it," he says, nodding in the general direction of the man.

"John Abruzzi, John Abruzzi?" asks Michael, smirking.

"John Abruzzi, John Abruzzi. Why do you wanna see Burrows so bad anyways?"

Sucre watches as all the emotion in drained from Michael's face and he answers, "I've got my reasons," and then Michael turns and walks back into the prison.

**************************************************************

"What's another word for love?" asks Sucre from his spot at the small desk in their cell.

Looking up from the spot on the cell door that he'd been staring at, Michael asked, "What's the context?"

Truthfully, Sucre answered, "Oh you know, the I love you so much I ain't never knockin' over another liquor store context. Except, you know, more classy."

Genuinely amused and grinning a real grin for the first time since he'd gotten here, Michael thought about it, "hmm."

"I'm proposing to my girlfriend, if you gotta know," informed Sucre.

Feeling a little skeptical, Michael inquired, "In a letter?"

"You got a better way?" asked Sucre, challengingly.

In a _duh _voice, as if it was pretty obvious, which it was, Michael said, "Face to face works pretty good."

Turning towards Michael, still seated on the chair, he said, "This place ain't exactly the romantic spot. I'm gonna have her get on the Stanton Island ferry, then once she's at the Empire State building, she opens the letter." Then getting excited, standing up and snapping his fingers, Sucre exclaims, "It's almost like being there," Michael smiles amusedly at his cellie, "except for the fact that I won't be there." Excitement of the previous moment forgotten, he turns back to the letter.

Michael having gone back to his previous activity of staring at the cell door, suggests, "Try passion."

Getting excited once more, Sucre says, "Oh passions, that's dope," he then sounds it out, the way a little kid does during a spelling test, and asks, "How do you spell that? P-A-S-H?"

Shaking and now staring at the floor, Michael says, "Uhuh."

**************************************************************

Mentally preparing himself and pushing himself into the psyche of a person who isn't afraid of anything, completely opposite of himself (or so he thought), Michael walked toward the mob boss playing poker. "Abruzzi, I need you to hire me into P.I."

Without looking up, Abruzzi replies, "Beat it, Kid."

Still in his tough persona, Michael says, "Maybe you oughta hear what I gotta say."

Still not looking at him, Abruzzi says, "You got nothin' I want, Fish. Scram."

Smirking and placing a folded origami crane on the table, Michael says, "Wouldn't be top sure of that."

Looking at the crane, Abruzzi throws his head back and laughs, then says, "My mistake. Just what I need, a _duck_."

Once more all business, Michael says one last time, "P.I., Abruzzi. I just might be of more assistance than you think."

Abruzzi finally looked at him and that must have been some kind of signal because just as he did that, his _boys_ started to get up. Backing up, Michael says, "Mull it over," and, then looking around, continues, "Come find me, when you're ready to talk." Then with his hand up, as if to say he means no harm, Michael turns and leaves.

**************************************************************

Michael sighed as he was led to the infirmary, he hated shots even though he had Type 1 diabetes, actually it was probably the reason why he hated them. At least the diabetes was actually helping him for once, he needed a reason to get into the infirmary a lot and it was a perfect excuses and he wasn't lying for once.

Once inside he saw a pretty woman-doctor, who said, "Sit down, please," and then just got down to business, taking the shot and injecting it quickly, but gently.

She then comments, giving him the gauze to apply pressure in the spot, "Tattoo looks fresh. Hold that. But, I guess being a diabetic, you don't mind needles."

Changing the subject and deciding he might as well be in her good graces if he was going to be seeing her every day, Michael introduced himself, "I'm Michael, by the way."

Remaining professional, she says, "Scofield. I read your report."

"And you are?" asked Michael, as if he didn't already know. Dang it, he really hated lying.

Looking at him like she was trying to figure out his intentions, she said, "Dr. Tancredi will do."

"Tancredi like the governor? You are not related are you?" Michael keeps talking when she doesn't answer, "Hmm," he says looking at his surroundings and then back at her, "Wouldn't expect to find the daughter of frontier Frank working in a prison, as a doctor no less."

Dr. Tancredi, seeming very out of her comfort zone, looks up at him and says, "I believe in being part of the solution, not the problem."

"Hmm," says Michael contemplatively, "Be the change you want to see in the world."

He sees that the comment strikes her, just like he'd known it would. Looking up at her, playing dumb and smiling, Michael asks, "What?"

Shaking her head, she replies, "Nothing. That was just my senior quote."

Looking up at her with mock-disbelief, Michael says, "That was _you_. This whole time I was thinking it was Ghandi."

She finally let out a laugh, Michael internally raised a fist in victory, he was getting somewhere with her. "Very funny. Sit tight and put some direct pressure on that. I'll be back in a second." With that she got up and left the room. Michael watched her leave and, when she was out of his line of sight, removed the gauze and took another paper crane out of his pocket. He quickly gets up, still watching for her return, and walks toward the corner. Crouching down near the grate and slips it between the slats, quickly reclaiming his seat and putting the gauze back on his arm just as she returns.

Pushing down on the gauze, Michael asks, "So how do we play this? You hook me up with a three week supply?"

A smile matching the one on Michael face covering her's, she replies, "Nice try. No hypos on the floor.

"I'm the farthest thing from a junkie, trust me," Michael says, even though he knows it's hopeless."

"I got news for you, Michael," started Dr. Tancredi, "trust me means absolutely nothing inside these walls. The only way you'll get that insulin is if I'm the one administering it."

Standing up and taking the gauze off, Michael says, "Guess we'll seeing a lot of each other then."

Smiling easily, she replies, "I guess so," and then the encounter is over when a C.O. comes to escort Michael back to his cell.

**************************************************************

Michael looked for Lincoln Burrows all over the chapel before he finally spotted him. Then, without drawing attention to himself, he sat down behind him and ignored the chaplain until his last sentence, trying to think of a way to introduce himself to his father without seeming like a creep. Michael had just decided to wing it and paid attention to the Chaplain, "The son of man must be delivered into the hands of sinners and crucified. And on the third day rise again. And they remembered his words and so should you. Good day, gentleman, may God be with you." With that chapel was over and taking a deep breath, Michael rose to face the man, who was his father.

…TBC…

(If you want me to)

So whaddya think? Good, iffy, bad, better, could be better? Should I continue? Reviews and Constructive Criticism are always appreciated.

*wishes really, _really _hard*hope you enjoyed it, yours truly, Brownie.


	3. I'm Michael Scofield

Disclaimer: I don't own Michael Scofield, Wentworth Miller, Dominic Purcell, or Prison Break, which is probably a good thing cuz I'd end up ruining it. For this I borrowed a lot of lines from the pilot.

**Warning: **Michael is Lincoln's son, and he is fourteen years old, it might be a bit farfetched.

**Obligations**

Chapter 3: I'm Michael…Michael Scofield.

"_Your son at five is your master, at ten your slave, at fifteen your double, and after that, your friend or your foe, depending on his bringing up." Anonymous_

Reaching his father, Michael saw that he didn't notice him and took the moment to study the man that was his father, He was cuffed and was looking everywhere awkwardly, before turning into the pew aisle.

"Who are you?" asked his fa…Lincoln Burrows, sounding angry and at the same time curious about how would have the guts to face "Linc the Sink".

Not scared in the least because he knew what type of man Lincoln Burrows was, well what his mom had told him anyway, Michael replied, "I'm Michael… Michael Scofield and I'm here to save you."

"That's impossible and you're what seventeen years old. Besides, you don't even _know_ me, why in the world would _you_ wanna save _me_?" Lincoln was honestly wondering if the kid was crazy.

"I'm eighteen and no, not if you designed the place it isn't," replied Michael half-honestly."

Lincoln was still wondering if the kid was telling the truth about the "designing the prison" thing and decided to believe him because he didn't look like the type that would end up in this hell hole. "You still haven't answered by last question though, why do you _wanna_ save me? What does it get you?"

"It…it doesn't get me anything, d...dude, I'm just repaying a debt." When Lincoln made to interrupt, Michael plowed on, "And before you ask what debt, do you… do you know Veronica Donovan?" asked Michael, waiting for Lincoln's nod and when he got it, he continued. "Well, you could say I wouldn't be alive if it wasn't for her and I know that, for some reason or other, you're important to her. So, here I am."

Michael was glad that the C.O. showed up right at that moment he didn't think he could take the Spanish Inquisition right now, he was lost in his thoughts, but not enough that he didn't remember to smile at Lincoln and then walk to the line that consisted of the prisoners in gen pop. As they were led to their cells by three officers, Roy Geary whose name he saw being one of them, Michael was once again lost in his thoughts.

He couldn't believe it, he'd finally met his father and he'd only had to lie a couple times. Like, for instance, his age and his last name, but he hadn't lied about anything else. It _really_ didn't get him _anything_ because Lincoln Burrows was never going to find out that he was his son, he didn't wanna put more weight on the man's shoulder than there already was. He was fine and always would be, he could take care of himself, his mother, and Sebastian, he'd made sure before he'd entered this place.

He also hadn't lied about paying a debt, he hadn't specified which one and the debt that he had to pay was the one that he owed Lincoln Burrows for being half responsible for his existence. Also, Veronica Donovan _was_ the reason he was alive, if it hadn't been for her he would have never been born and his fa…Lincoln _was _important to her, heck, she'd loved him since they were kids.

Then he was shoved from the behind the back and caught himself with his hands before pushing himself up to his feet. He then turned to face his assailant, one Roy Geary, who said, "Get to your cell, boy, you've been standing there for five minutes." Michael reined in his anger, not wanting to make it worse for himself and said, "Sorry, Boss," and headed for his cell, intending to fall asleep when he reached it, but changed his plans when he saw that his "roommate" was agitated.

**********************************************************************

Michael, who had now taken a seat on his bunk, wanted to ask what was wrong, but didn't have to because at that moment Sucre incredulously and angrily asked, "Passion? What were you thinking?"

Shrugging like the teenager that he was, Michael said, "Hey, you went for it."

Pacing because of his nerves, Sucre ranted, "She probably thinks I went sissy up in here. You know, got more than one syllable, too much talking," not noticing Michael's smile of amusement, Sucre kept going, "That's me from now on, one syllable. Yes. No. Love. Hate. Love."

"Give it time," suggested Michael, remembering how long it had taken his mom to say yes to Seb even though they'd been dating for years.

Still not calm and pacing in their tiny cell, Sucre disbelieving said, "Are you kidding me? I proposed to her. That doesn't take time. Si or no. One syllable man! She's supposed to come around for a conjugal on Tuesday, she's always calling me beforehand, letting me know she's coming. This time I ain't hear a peep. _You_ spooked her!" When he was finished, he _finally_ stopped and stared at Michael like he was the cause of all his problems, but before he could say anything, if he was going to say anything at all, a C.O. walked in, "Scofield, get it together. Pope wants to see you."

Michael ignored Sucre's comment of, "Oh, not good, Fish. No one gets an audience with the Pope. Not unless he's real interested in what you got going on," as he was handcuffed and led to the Administrative Building. He wasn't scared because Henry Pope, the warden of Fox River Penitentiary, was a crucial part of his plan. Simply put, the man needed to care for Michael and trust him enough to leave him alone in his office and that would happen if Michael played his cards right.

**********************************************************************

"Top of your class at Loyola, Magna Cum Laude, in fact," said Henry Pope, reading from Michael Scofield's, who was sitting across from him, slumped back in his chair comfortably, file. Trying his best to get his point across and help the young man make a better life for himself, Henry took of his glassed and looked at Michael. "I can't help wondering what a ki…a man with your credentials and genius is doing in a place like this."

"Took a wrong turn a few months back, I guess," said Michael carelessly, doing his best to get H.., damn it, he had to stay unattached, Pope invested in him.

In the same reprimanding tone of voice that his grandpa on Seb's side used on him when he did something his parents wouldn't be cool with, _Pope_ said, "You make it sound like a traffic infraction. Like all you did was turn the wrong way up a one way street."

"Everyone turns up one sooner or later," replied Michael, still playing the "I don't care" card.

Michael didn't wonder what Pope was up to as he walked around the desk and stood in front of him. "The reason I called you here, I notice in your file, under occupation, you put down unemployed. But, that's not true now, is it?" On all accounts looking and sounding like someone who'd just won the lottery, Pope sat on the edge of his desk and said, "I _know_ you're a structural engineer, Scofield.'

And, when he said that, Michael knew he was right about the reason Pope had called him there and walked toward the half-finished Taj Mahal to take a closer look, it was actually pretty good. Pope, who had seen him studying the Taj, was now looking too.

He then turned to Michael and explained, "Shah Jahan built the Taj Mahal as a monument to his undying love for his wife. My wife is quite fond of the story. It appeals to the romantic side of her. Being married to someone on corrections, it's a terrible job, wouldn't wish it on anybody. And yet, in thirty-nine years my wife has never complained and the worst part is I've never thanked her. So because I couldn't say it I thought, you know, I could build it. In June, it's our fortieth anniversary."

Then pausing he bent down and said, "Well, here look," and Michael followed suit. "The problem is, I build anymore and it's all going to come down like a house of cards. That's where I was hoping you could be of assistance. For the favor, I could offer you three days of work a week in here and it'll keep you off the yard."

Standing up and pretending to think about it as he'd already decided he wasn't going to accept because he could use it as a free ticket out of solitary and what not, Michael said, "I can't do it."

"Son," started Pope, "it's better for me to owe you one in here than it is for you to owe me one. I can promise that."

Playing it cool, Michael replied, "I think I'll take my chances.

"Then we're through here," said the Pope angrily, then yelled, "Guard."

…TBC…

(If you want me to)

So whaddya think? Good, iffy, bad, better, could be better? Should I continue? Reviews and Constructive Criticism are always appreciated.

*wishes really, _really _hard*hope you enjoyed it, yours truly, Brownie.


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